


After Culloden

by timeisweird



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Light Angst, Memory Alteration, Probably Historically Inaccurate, Reunions, Season 6B, only slightly more shippy than canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 08:18:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12813435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeisweird/pseuds/timeisweird
Summary: After leading that odd doctor and his companions back to… whereever they had wanted to go, James Robert McCrimmon loses a rebellion, finds a new life in the colonies, makes a friend, and discovers what really happened after the battle of Culloden.





	After Culloden

**Author's Note:**

> i've been slowly working on this for the past few weeks, and i've realized that i won't get it perfect, so i may as well post it. enjoy!
> 
> also: i've checked for typos and incoherencies, but i'm only human, so if you see any, feel free to point them out and i'll fix 'em.

He’s back in Culloden, laying on the ground, face in the damp grass.

He gets to his hands and knees before he pauses. Back? He never went anywhere.

He doesn’t have much more time to think, however, because suddenly a red coat is shooting at him, forcing him to duck back into the cover of the tall grass. With a shout of his clan’s war cry, he draws the sword tied to his hip, and runs at the Englishman.

It’s much later, when the war is finally done - lost, though somehow that doesn’t surprise him, nor does it hurt as much as he thinks it should - that he is finally given time to relax and think. Well, as much as he can on a crowded boat sailing for the Americas.

Currently, Jamie lies on a bunk, trying to find a bit of peace among the travelers. Once it was clear there was no hope, Jamie and a few like-minded Scots had felt they would not submit to English rule and fled the land they were born in.

He smirks despite himself. All that effort with that man to save him and his fellow soldiers from being sold to the colonies, only to end up here, an indentured servant heading for the same place.

That man… What was his name? He was some sort of medicinal… doctor! He was a doctor, that he knew.

He had led that man, that doctor, and his companions back to… somewhere. Wherever it was they needed to go. His business with them was done, surely?

So why, when he thought of that doctor, was there an ache in his chest?

A scuffle broke out somewhere on the deck, drawing his attention outward. Men were shouting and jeering. There was the unmistakable sound of flesh hitting flesh and the sudden uproar of cheers as a man took the first hit. No doubt it was about the rations - stale bread and cold gruel, foul in taste and never enough to fill your stomach. Fights over food happened often.

He curled in around himself, electing to ignore any odd stares he may attract. It wasn't as if he was the only one who tried to retreat away from the world now.

 _Six months_ , he told himself, but the thought brought little comfort. _Six months._

Three weeks or so in at the plantation, Jamie’s already made a bit of a name for himself. What can he say? It’s hard work during the summer months, and laboring from dawn til dusk makes a Scotsman irritable. It’s inevitable, really, that Jamie often finds himself at the wrong end of a whip.

Too strong headed, they say. Can’t keep his damn mouth shut, they say. Too much trouble for what he’s worth, they say.

It’s during the aftermath of one such incident, when Jamie is nursing the wounds on his back, that he meets John. Or rather, John comes up to Jamie - who had been lying stomach down on his cot, painful red stripes open to the warm air - and begins applying a wet cloth to his wounds.

Jaime jumps and twists around to get a view of the man, ignoring the angry protests of his back. The little moonlight that comes into the hut lets Jaime see the man. He is an Englishman, but no doubt indentured like the rest of them at the plantation. The dirty linen shirt and grime says that for him. His hair is long, black, and unkempt, and in an odd way it reminds him of that doctor. “Heard that you got a few lashes today,” he whispers. “I figured I could help a bit.” Jamie notes the man’s accent as he talks. Definitely English. “These wounds will get infected if you don’t clean them. Lie back down.”

After months of shaken trust and broken promises brought on by war, Jamie found himself an adequate judge of character. When John appeared offering help, and Jamie sees no ill-intention, he accepts.

So Jamie lies back down. And while the man continued cleaning Jamie’s lashings, he introduced himself. “I’m John, by the way. In case you were wondering.”

“Oh, aye,” Jamie says, mostly because he cannot think of anything else to say. This stranger is kind, but he can’t say he’s particularly interested in conversing with him.

“Yup, and you’re James McCrimmon.”

It’s not a question, and that startles Jamie into laughing. John shushes him, but it’s unnecessary. The pain makes him stop.

“Ye’ve heard about me, then?” He asks in a whisper. He dare not wake his housemates - they need their rest as much as he does. It’s Jamie’s own damn fault he’s awake, and really, shouldn’t John be sleeping too?

“Oh yes, all marvelous stories. You should really keep your mouth shut,” he adds, his voice teasing.

“I’ll stop when they stop trying tae make me take off my kilt.”

John laughs quietly. “As it should be, James McCrimmon.” There’s a _rip_ of fabric - undeniably from his own shirt - and the sound of water, and then he’s being asked to sit up.

“Hey now,” Jamie protests, though he sits up anyway. “Don’t use yer shirt!”

John starts wrapping a wet, rough piece of cloth around his wounds. “Why not?” he asks.

“It-It’s yours. You’ll get burnt out in the fields tomorrow without it.” The Virginian sun was brutal, Jamie knew that well by now. Just another thing to get used to in this new life.

“Oh, don’t worry about me. Worry about yourself for once.”

Jamie finds he doesn’t have the energy to protest any more. If the man wants to rip his shirt to shreds, so be it. Once John’s finished, Jamie practically falls back down onto his cot, his little strength already waning.

Then he hears the shuffle of feet, and Jamie lifts his head up slightly to see where the man’s gone. Apparently, John decided to stay right here with him - He’s sitting on the dirt ground, next to Jamie’s cot. A pail sits next to him, and he’s rinsing his hands in the cool water.

The man doesn’t seem rushed at all to sleep, but neither is Jamie.

“When did ye get here?” He asks, finding himself suddenly curious.

The man looks up at him. “A few weeks, I presume. It's hard to keep track without a calendar or a watch.”

“Aye, it is.” Jamie supposes it's been a month or so for himself, but the monotony of his schedule makes the days bleed into each other, impossible to count. “Why?”

“I don’t know. Maybe having something physical to mark the passing of time for you makes--”

“Och, I don’t mean the watches. I mean, why’d you come here?”

“Oh.”

“I mean, if it’s alright tae ask you. I know it might no’ be polite--”

“No, no, it’s fine. I suppose… I needed a change of scenery, really.”

“That’s it?”

“What else do you need?”

Jamie can think of many things one would need to sell seven years of their life to a tobacco plantation. The promise of a new start to life. No hope in the place where you were before. The loss of a loved one. A change of scenery is not one of them.

Before he can even open his mouth to reply, John gets up from the floor and walks to the door of the hut. Jamie briefly wonders his quarters are. “Get some rest, James McCrimmon.” He points a finger at him. “And for the love of everything under the sun, keep those wounds clean. I don’t want you falling ill on me, you hear?”

The next day, Jamie’s back in the fields, picking the tobacco leaves that this place holds so valuable. His back aches, and with every time he bends down, he can feel the crack and pull of healing scabs.

When he straightens up - taking a moment to rest his back - he spots John across a few rows. The Englishman’s shirtless, as predicted, and Jamie can already see the hint of a sunburn. It’s not even noon yet, and Jamie feels himself wincing in sympathy.

Though, despite his predicament and suffering-to-come, John looks almost jovial. Though he can spot the flaws in the way he’s picking the crop - too slow, too inexperienced. Like most who are new.

John catches his gaze, and smiles. Waves, even. Jamie waves back a moment, but he doesn’t think John saw, as the man ducks back into the rows of tobacco almost immediately. It’s only when an overseer snaps at him that Jamie realizes he had been staring. He returns to his work quickly.

Some days later, Jamie sits outside the mess hall, scarfing down the stale bread that passes for his supper. It’s one of those rare days where he doesn’t have extra work to make up or punishments to serve, and just beyond the trees, he can make out the setting sun and its brilliant shades of purple, red, and orange.

A man plops himself down next to him and startles Jamie into choking on the tough bread. He hits himself on the chest to dislodge it, and once he’s able to breath properly, he says “Hey, watch it, will you?” He turns and finds John sitting next to him.

“Ah, sorry about that,” he says. “I was going to pat you on the back to help, but you know…” He glances at the bandages on his back, which Jamie, heeding the man’s advice, changed often. He didn't quite understand why - shouldn't he let the blood run, to clean any possible infection? - but John had been quite adamant every time he saw him, so he obliged. “How are they healing? The lashings?”

Jamie waves the question away. “Fine, fine.” And they had been. From what he could tell (which admittedly wasn't much, given the location) they were healing nicely. Though they did itch like hell, but there’s nothing anyone can do about that, so he doesn't mention it.

They eat in silence. Unlike Jamie, John takes his time eating… well, eating what could possibly pass for a meal, if one had a great sense of imagination. He fidgets with his bread as they sit, and to Jamie’s utter surprise, offers the rest of his food to him.

“No,” he says, confused. What sort of man... “No, that's alright. You keep it.”

John pushes the bowl into his hands. “Nah, I’m good. Don’t need to eat all that much, really. And you could use the extra nutrition - if there even is any in that stuff. Also, it's pretty gross,” he adds with a grimace.

Jamie laughs. “That it is.” He looks down at the bowl of food, then to John, second guessing himself. “What’re you doing this for?”

“Hm?” He says, as if they hadn’t just been having a conversation moments before. His hands move as he talks, and Jamie finds it only slightly distracting. “It’s always why with you, isn’t it? Oh, I don’t know. Just thought, hey, this is what normal friends do, isn’t it? Share food and chat about life and… and things.”

“Friends, right.” Jamie mentally shrugs. If the man wants to give away one of his two meals a day like some sort of charity, then by all means go ahead. He eats the rest of the meal.

Some time passes, in which the sun sets fully, and darkness starts to descend over the plantation. He should be getting back to his quarters, getting rest in preparation for the next day, but he finds himself looking up at the darkened sky, captivated by the way the stars twinkle and shimmer. He almost wants to reach out, grab one of those distant points of light and bring it back.

“‘Ey Jamie,” a voice calls out, startling him out of his reverie. Sam, a dark-skinned man that Jamie has come to regard as a friend, steps out of the shadows. “William’s got a deck of cards. Me and a few of the lads were gonna sneak a game in. You in?”

“Aye, I’ll play.” He looks to John next to him, an unspoken invitation. It’d be rude not to offer, especially after his gift of charity, wouldn’t it?

“Ah, not for me thanks,” John says, but hesitates. “Well, unless you know how to play… no, that’s alright. I’m fine out here.”

“Suit yourself,” Jamie says, and stands to join Sam.

The game turns out to be whist, and though Jamie is fairly sure it only calls for four, they play with four other men and a few women, The rules get mixed up often, and nobody's _quite_ too sure what’s going on, but that only adds to the appeal.

It’s one of the first nights that Jamie has actually enjoyed, and he finds himself oddly eager for the next time they can play. If William will allow it; A few of the cards got scuffed during play, and everyone soon learned that he was quite protective of the deck. Not without reason, of course. It took him a few months wages to save up enough to buy the thing.

They end up playing much later into the night than intended, and Jamie is currently sneaking back to his own quarters. The night is almost all-consuming, the only source of light coming from the plantation owner’s mansion up above the hill. Though, Jamie is used to it, having led multiple ambushes in the cover of night during the events of Culloden, and finds his way back to his quarters quickly and without issue.

John and ﹰJamie become steadfast friends over the weeks. It’s an odd sort of companionship, filled mostly with amicable chats and the simple company of the other, but he has it, Jamie doesn’t think he can live without it.

And then there was that time that John had been able to talk the overseer out of flogging Jamie. He can’t even remember what was he had done wrong, just how John walked up to the man, spoken a few choice words - out of earshot, of course - and then suddenly the overseer was sending him off, but not without a snappish insult.

The whole incident frightens Jamie in a way - what man has such a silver tongue that he talk his friends out of trouble with nothing more than a sentence or two? - but he doesn't think he should look a gift horse in the mouth.

The days on the plantation are so hard and mind numbingly dull that having someone else to just talk to was miraculous. Having someone watching out for him was a _godsend_ , plain and simple. He hopes John feels similarly about him.

Currently, Jamie is back in the fields, picking the leaves of tobacco. The sun is relentless with its heat, and by midday, Jamie is begging for a rest. He dare not voice this desire though, in fear of the overseer not ten metres away from where he works.

John works nearby and though they generally talk through their work, they’re both silent now. Today, the man overseeing their particular plot of land is Charles Miller, son of the plantation master. Jamie figured out long ago that this man was not someone to mess with. Quick to anger, quick to use a whip, and eager to please the boss. Everything a servant or slave doesn’t want in a foreman.

Jamie can tell that the heat of the day is making him especially short-tempered. Sam already got a hell of a beating for being too leisurely with his pickings. A first warning is customary, but not today it seems.

So when John stops picking leaves to wipe his brow and take a breath, Jamie’s attention snaps to the overseer. Already, he’s eyeing the both of them, but mostly John, who by now has set down his basket.

And then Jamie looks back to his friend, and despite the scorching heat, his blood turns to ice. He’s seen that look. Felt it many times. Pale despite the heat, hands shaking, swaying on your feet. John’s about to faint.

Jamie catches the attention of another worker nearby - Lucy - and motions to the overseer, who’s thankfully looking the other way for the moment. _A distraction, anything, for a few moments,_ he manages to communicate.

Lucy nods, and soon she’s begging for a break, drawing the overseer’s attention away from them. As inconspicuously as he can, he makes his way over to John. Just in time, it seems. He manages to get one of John’s arms around his shoulder just before the man falls. Hoping the foreman is properly distracted, he lowers John to the ground and pulls him into the shadows cast by the rows of tobacco.

“Hey, hey,” he says, gently slapping his friend’s face. “Are ye alright?”

John snaps to attention, looking at Jamie with such clarity that it’s almost hard to believe the man was an inch away from falling face first into a tobacco plant. “Oh,” he breathes. “Oh that wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“You’re damn right it wasn’t supposed tae happen. Now come on, Lucy’s covering for us, but we’ve got tae get up.”

He helps John to his feet, and while he’s still shaky, he doesn’t look like he’ll faint.

The two return to their work quickly and breathe a sigh of relief when Charlie Miller’s gaze passes over them without issue.

Jamie keeps a close eye on John the rest of the day, but no other incident occurs.

Later, Jamie makes sure to sneak Lucy a portion of his supper.

There was another card game tonight at William’s cabin, and afterwards, Jamie strolls leisurely back to his own quarters. It’s well into the night, and he isn’t as fearful of any overseer catching him as he once was - Over the months, he’s learned their schedules, and undoubtedly they’re all asleep by now. He takes a moment to rest from his walk when he reaches the mess hall. The stars have come out fully, twinkling brightly in the darkness. Towards the horizon, he spots a solid point of light.

 _Jupiter,_  he thinks, before suddenly he’s being hit with an overwhelming feeling of want, its intensity shocking, and for just a moment - only a moment - this young son of a piper from Scotland remembers alien skies and metal beasties and running for his life oh so many times but finding he doesn’t mind one bit, because above all, there was a wee funny man whom he had- had-

But then his gaze falls back to the earth in front of him, and the spell is broken. Though not completely; A nagging feeling follows him on his walk back to his quarters. Something forgotten. Something important. He picks at it for a while, trying to glean anything out of why he may feel like this. But he gives up when nothing seems to be forthcoming. Feeling vaguely unsettled, he goes to his cot, though it’s some time before he can fall asleep.

He dreams of distant lands and intelligent eyes, and a striking color of blue.

Since that night with the stars and that single planet shining brightly against the dark sky, Jamie’s come to realize there’s something missing. He had had a vague notion, like one gets when they’ve forgotten a chore, or they can’t quite remember if they’ve locked the doors before leaving their home, but nothing concrete.

But now he can see a clear gap in his memories. He’s come to notice new scars - Lord knows how he managed to miss the one on his thigh that looks like a lightning strike branching out from a single point.

Bumps rise on his skin when his fingers ghost over it, and he gets the strangest sensation of chilling numbness.

It’s unnerving, unsettling, and sets Jamie crawling in his own skin. Why can’t he _remember?_

It comes to a head a few weeks later, when he and John are sitting outside the mess hall and eating their supper, the way they’ve spent so many nights before. John’s going on about - well, something. Jamie hasn’t been paying attention. Instead, he’s focusing on the way John is wringing his hands. He talks with his hands often - it’s just one of the things John _does._

But now he’s seeing someone else in his place, and before he can stop himself, Jamie blurts out, “You remind me of someone.”

For once, John’s hands still. “Oh?”

“Aye, or - oh, I dinnae. I can’t seem tae remember things the way I used tae. There was this man, ye ken. This ‘doctor’ who helped me in Culloden. That’s who ye remind me of, I cannae really say why, though.” _Mibbe it’s your eyes,_ he thinks.

His voice is shaking a bit now, and he really should shut up now because John’s going to think he’s a madman, but he finds he doesn’t care at all, because it feels so good to finally tell someone. The words tumble from his mouth, and he can't stop them even if he tried.

“He was odd though, and tricky - like a snake. He changed his voice to suit himself and could talk himself out of anything. He was awfully clever, saved my life too, but I dinnae know if I could trust a man like that…

“I led him back tae his, well, his ship I think, after everything. But beyond that, I dinnae know. Everything gets a wee bit fuzzy and it feels like… Sometimes I get these-these glimpses of something more. When I wake up in the morn, I feel like it’s just there, but whenever I reach to grab it, it slips through my fingers. What if-what if I never find out what it is I’m missing?”

He cuts himself off with a sharp intake of breath, blinking back tears, and looks at John. In the darkness of the night, he can see the saddest look on the man’s face. “Oh Jamie,” he says quietly. “You never told me that.”

Never told him that? Of course he never did. What man confesses to his delusions like that? "Aye, well,” he says, rather confused. “I’m telling you now.”

“Quite right too,” says John, and now there’s a firm hand on his shoulder. “Because let me tell you, you've been here for… what, nine months, one week and a day?” Jamie blinks. John never had a good sense of time. He always joked that a decade could go by, and he wouldn't even notice. “James Robert McCrimmon, you’ll find who you’re looking for rather soon, I think.”

The conversation ends there abruptly, with John leaving without an explanation. Though, Jamie thinks the tears he sees are an explanation enough, even if he doesn't understand the reason.

The whole thing leaves Jamie immensely confused, but when he looks for John later in the evening, seeking clarification, he’s nowhere to be seen.

He keeps replaying John’s words in his mind, and it isn’t until the next day that Jamie realizes that he said who, not what. What that means, he isn’t sure.

But by the time he realizes it, it doesn't even matter. He’s sitting outside of William’s cabin in the dead of night, watching the stars.

He had been playing cards with the lads inside, but decided now he needed some fresh air. The light from the inside ruins the chance of a perfect view of the sky, but he can still make out a multitude of the little white points.

He hasn't seen John since a few days ago after that odd conversation, and that worries him. Maybe he tried to run? He never spoke of escape before, but sometimes the way that he looks at the sky makes him think that given a chance, he’d run for the hills. He wonders what holds him back.

Then Jamie spots something by the trees. A sparkle of light in the shape of two eyes. A deer, or a coyote, he thinks, getting to his feet. The light gets closer, bringing with it a rustle of leaves, and on instinct, Jamie reaches for a dirk that hasn't been there for months.

To his surprise, a man steps out from the trees, not a beastie. His first thought is _fairie,_ but then he takes a closer look. He’d recognize that man anywhere, issues of memory or not. It’s that doctor.

( _No,_ a part of his mind says. _It’s_ the _Doctor._ )

Trousers too large and yet too short, and a baggy overcoat, all together with a bow tie. His hair is greyer than he last saw him. It’s been barely a year, how does that work?

And just what is he doing here?

The doctor brushes himself down and looks up. He breaks out into a grin when he sees Jamie, which visibly startles him. “Jamie! Oh Jamie!” The doctor frantically waves at him as he jogs up to him. Deep within Jamie, something loosens its grip on his mind. He can only watch, stuck to the ground with confusion from the doctor’s sudden appearance, and his own feelings of _want, safety, comfort._ “Oh, I’m so glad to see you, Jamie. It's been so long. I’ve worked it out with the Time Lords, you see, we just--”

“Doctor!” Jamie exclaims, partly because he doesn't know what else to call him, but maybe that’s exactly what he should call him, and partly because he doesn't understand - can’t keep up with what the man’s saying. “What’re ye doing here? I thought I left ye --”

The Doctor’s (and he’s sure it’s the Doctor now, not a title but a name in and of itself) grin falters when he sees Jamie’s confused frown. “Oh, I see. Oh dear. They haven’t-- Blast those incorrigible-- No, no we’ll worry about that later, shall we?”

The Doctor wrings his hands, suddenly, shockingly serious as he says, “Now, Jamie, do you still trust me? I ah, know this must be--”

“Yes,” says Jamie before he can even process the words, so sure of himself it hurts. “I trust you.” _I’d trust you with my life but I dinnae know why and it scares me to death but I need to know I need to know I need to--_

 _Oh,_ Jamie thinks as the Doctor takes his hand. _This is what John meant._

**Author's Note:**

> the detail with the doctor's eyes glowing in the dark is a headcanon of rose_of_pollux. specifically, that gallifreyans have a form of tapetum lucidum. i like the concept of subtly alien, well, aliens a lot, so i've sort of adopted it into my own list of headcanons. so thanks!


End file.
